The Best Medicine
by Nutzkie
Summary: When Kim is sidelined with a cold, it's Ron to the rescue.  What does he have in store for cheering up his sick friend?  It ain't your grandpa's cough syurp, that's for sure.  [ONESHOT]


A very wise man once observed that lawyers are like nuclear weapons: The only reason _you_ have them is because _they_ have them, and if you use them, then they screw-up every bloody thing in sight.

Unfortunately, just like roaches, internet spam, and call-waiting, they are a part of modern life. For this reason, it is time for another visit from everybody's favorite literary device, the _Legal Disclaimer:_

If you saw it on TV, then it belongs to Disney. Anything else belongs to me, although I must admit that some of the dialogue was inspired by listening to old George Carlin records. If you feel the sudden urge to sue me, then I wish you luck. The phrase "can't get blood from a turnip" springs to mind in this sitch.

Short version: _If it sounds familiar; it ain't mine!_

And so without any further ado, let's begin…

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**The Best Medicine**

_This couldn't be happening._

After all… she had lost count of all the dangers she'd faced. She had faced down entire armies of muscle-bound goons, sky-dived from near exo-atmospheric altitudes, escaped from exploding lairs, and helped to avert major international incidents. She'd climbed Mount Everest, dog-sledded across the Artic Circle, swam the English Channel and aced the regional cheer finals. It seemed as though she truly could do anything!

So how was it then, that an object so small you needed to squint through an electron microscope to see it, was able to bring her to her knees? It didn't make any sense, after all. The entire proposition was just so ferociously incredible.

Incredible, but true…

Kim Possible… had a cold.

And it wasn't just any cold, either. This was one of those knock-down, drag-out, library-paste-in-your-sinuses, head-about-to-explode, Rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer, rhinoceros-type colds. It was the sort of infection where you spend the first six hours afraid that you're going to die, followed by spending the next three days afraid that you're not. This was the mother of all colds, which had come to visit her, and it had put her down for the count.

It was this final fact, more than anything else, that tweaked her to no end. As she sat on the edge of her bed, staring down into the bowl of chicken soup she was holding, the frustration began to build once again. She was THE Kim Possible, dammit! She was always in control of the sitch. When things got hairy, it was always her who stepped forward to take command. She was a natural-born leader, perpetually calling the shots.

Except when she was sick.

"_Arrrrrgh!"_ she growled as she grabbed her temples in frustration and tossed her head back, immediately regretting having done so. The sudden motion set the entire room to spinning as a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. It was as if the cold had found its own way of saying to her, _"Oh no, honey, you best just sit yerself down… I'm the one in charge, now."_

She moaned softly as she slumped dejectedly forward over her soup, listening to the sound of the vaporizer in the corner combine with the heavy rasps of her own congested breathing. Was this _really_ what she had to look forward to for the next week? It was so ferociously unfair. If only her brothers hadn't dropped that stupid chandelier onto to project "Ray-X." She'd make it a point to brain those Tweebs, once she was able to stand up again, of course.

"Hey there, KP!"

The sudden appearance of a voice caught her momentarily off guard. She turned her head, (slowly this time), to find the comforting sight of a familiar face looking back at her from the hatchway entrance of her room.

"Hey, Rod." She replied through sinuses so clogged that blowing her nose with dynamite probably wouldn't have cleared them out.

"Rod?" Ron asked, thoroughly puzzled by this salutation. "Since when do you call me that? I mean, it's bad enough that Drakken forgets my name…"

"I doe your dame, Rod." Kim reassured him. "I jutht cad't breath through my doze."

"Ohhh-kaaay… No idea what you just said there."

Kim groaned and shot Ron a sideways glance as he moved to sit down next to her, but her frustration didn't last long. Ron may be somewhat obtuse from time to time, but his heart was always in the right place. The simple fact that he had set aside part of his day to come over and keep her company spoke volumes about his character in this regard. His simple presence was always something that she just seemed to find comforting, and she was certainly grateful for his being there in her current sitch.

"Chicken soup, eh?" he inquired, nodding toward the bowl still sitting in Kim's lap.

"Uh-huh. Mom sayth it helpth." Kim replied in the nasally manner which she hoped she would never become accustomed to.

"Hmmmm… Ya' know, you'd think a top-notch brain surgeon would be able to come up with something a little more advanced than a folk remedy?" Ron wondered aloud. Apparently he was quickly becoming accustomed to his girlfriend's newly-acquired "accent."

"Yeah, you'd thingk." Kim chuckled.

It was just then that she happened to notice the folded newspaper, which Ron carried in his left hand.

"What'z dat?" she inquired.

"Oh this?" Ron said, holding up the object in question. "It's just a little something I've gotta skim through for civics class. Current events and what not."

"Ad you're gudda read it dow?"

"Why not? Are we planning on going somewhere?"

"Good poidt."

And with that, Ron unfurled his paper while Kim turned her attention to her soup. She was just sipping the first spoonful when Ron began to read aloud.

"Headlining the local news," he announced in a casual tone, "Welcome Wagon; runs over newcomer."

Kim spit the soup nearly half way across the room, turning a bewildered look toward Ron as she wiped the residue from her chin with her sleeve.

His only response was a non-response, keeping his attention sharply focused on his paper. Slowly, and with a sideways glance, Kim turned back toward her soup.

"Hmmm… The man trying to walk around the world drowned today."

Once again, Kim's gaze shot toward her blond-haired companion. She had growing suspicion that Ron's sudden interest in current events wasn't all that he was letting on about.

"At the Port of Seattle yesterday: Longshoremen walked off the piers." Ron continued, shooting a sideways glance of his own toward Kim. "Rescue operations are continuing at this hour."

That nailed it!

"Civics, shmivics!" Kim exclaimed through her growing laughter. "You're jutht uthing that ath a prop to cheer me ub."

"Are you saying you have an objection?" Ron asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kim briefly pondered the question before responding.

"Protheed." She finally commanded. Ron had obviously spent some time preparing his material, and truth be told, she really was enjoying the show.

"Well then," Ron loftily stated, flipping the paper outward in an exaggeratedly pompous manner. "Let us see what else is new in the world today."

He arched an eyebrow thoughtfully as he scanned the page. It was an act that would have made Shakespeare proud.

"The Long Beach Freeway was the scene of a freak accident yesterday." He finally stated. "Six freaks in a camper crashed into three freaks in a van."

Kim was quickly discovering that laughter, when combined with chest congestion and a plugged-up nose, could be a somewhat painful experience. And yet, somehow, it just felt so darn good!

"Famed professor of linguistics "Dr. Backward" died today. Tragically, passers-by failed to respond the doctor's frantic cries of 'Pleh! Pleh!'"

Kim snorted out a hearty laugh, and quickly recoiled from the stinging sensation in her sinuses. Still, it had been days since she had last found any reason to laugh, and the endorphin rush she was now experiencing was almost euphoric in its intensity. In its own way, it was _so_ worth the pain.

"Jacques Cousteau drowns in bathtub accident… Huh."

Kim nearly fell over with laughter, completely oblivious to the snot bubble she had just blown from her right nostril.

"On the local scene, another senseless killing today, as authorities discovered the body if Irving Senseless lying dead in his hallway."

Ron wasn't letting up one bit.

"Authorities are charging Mr. Senseless with loitering, and his wife with littering." He quickly added.

"Puh… Peh… Please, Rod!" Kim managed to choke out between fits of laughter. "Hode up for a thec! I've got to thzeeze, and if I thneeze and laugh at da thame time, then I'b gudda…"

"Famed television announcer Charlie the Tuna was found dead today of mercury poisoning."

"Ahhh-_thpbbbbbblt!_ Eeww-wwwww, dat iz tho groth!

"Sorry, Charlie."

"Dard it, Rod!"

Kim's anger toward her best friend probably would have been more convincing if she hadn't been wearing a smile that stretched all the way 'round to the back of her head.

A similar expression could be found on Ron's face as well. After all, he knew his plan was having the desired effect. He had stayed up half of the previous night writing the material, and he considered it well worth the effort to see his best friend genuinely enjoying herself for the first time in several days.

Even if underneath the laughter, she was truly angry with him; that would be okay too. It meant that she was focusing on him, and not the misery of her illness. A simple diversion was all she really needed right now, and who knew more about creating diversions than himself.

He paused thoughtfully before continuing.

"In financial news, the Dow Jones took a little dip today as it dropped _600 POINTS!!!_" he gasped in mock shock. "Selling on the exchange got somewhat spirited toward the end, as over 1,500 were hospitalized."

Glancing over to his right, Ron took note that Kim had now collapsed onto her side, and was firmly gripping her bare midriff as she rolled about the bed, racked by fits of laughter.

A sly smile crossed his face: It was time to take it into high gear.

"Scientists at the National Institute of Health today, announced the completion of a three-year study in which they concluded that research causes cancer in rats."

"Hrk… Hey!" squeaked a small, highly irritated voice. Ron hadn't even noticed that Rufus had climbed out of his pocket and was now perched observantly on his shoulder.

"Shhhh… It's okay, little man." Ron reassured his pet. "It's just part of an act." He motioned toward Kim, who was by now gurgling her laughter into a pillow.

Rufus crossed his arms in front of himself and growled. Being a rat himself, he didn't appreciate the idea of his brethren being used as test subjects, even if it was only in jest. With a final dirty look toward his human, he grudgingly returned to his pocket to continue his nap.

Satisfied that Rufus wasn't overly put out, Ron ruffled his paper once more and continued his routine.

"City officials in Los Angeles announced today that racism is no longer a major problem in that city. This conclusion was reached last week when the smog got so bad that nobody could tell what race another person was."

Another burst of laughter from Kim told him that he was still hitting his mark. He decided to press his advantage.

"Hey, here's an ad for a new cold medicine!" he suddenly exclaimed, perking Kim's interest.

"Really?" she asked, desperately hoping that this wasn't part of his routine. "Is id any good?"

"Seems to be," Ron replied, "but the side effects kinda worry me. It just sounds so medieval."

"Mediebal?" Kim wheezed. "Mediebal how?"

"Let's see." Ron continued. "May cause flushing, blushing, running of the mouth, delayed borgarabness, shortness of pants, emphysema, pyorrhea, diarrhea, gonorrhea, pneumonia, oldmonia, ammonia, lower-back pain, black death and a swarm of locusts descending on your head. Do not take Zyphexaphenadine unless you have consulted a doctor, two pharmacists, your local apothecary and the entrails of a goat."

"Ith that all?" Kim asked with a disapointed, yet amused smirk.

"Not entirely." Ron replied. "Pregnant women should not even be reading this advertisement."

Kim groaned, but smiled, as she sank back slightly into the mattress. Ron continued on.

"The Colorado legislature introduced a bill this week that would officially change the state's motto. If passed, the time-honored phrase 'Rocky Mountain High' will be replaced with 'Beer: What else do you need?'" Uproarious laughter was soon filling the attic room once again.

Yes, it certainly felt good to laugh again. However, there was still something to be said about the cumulative effect of such abdominal spasms. Kim was quickly finding her throat to be more and more raw. Her sinuses were throbbing with the intensity of a base drum, and her entire head felt like it was being tossed through a clothes dryer set to "Fluff." This experience was all well and good, but she needed to take a break, _seriously!_

"Stob it, Rod… I'b beggid you!" she managed to get out through broken laughter. "I really deed to catch my breath."

Ron favored Kim with a sideways glance. Fun and humor were all well and good, after all, but there was something in Kim's nasally tone that indicated she was dead serious about the sitch. He nodded to his girlfriend in agreement before returning his glance to the paper, saying nothing.

Desperate for oxygen, Kim was panting heavily through her mouth, her clogged nasal passages precluding any attempt at normal respiration. She returned the bowl of soup to her lap, marveling that it hadn't been spilled during her flailing gyrations and raucous laughter.

She was most certainly grateful for what Ron had done for her today; even more grateful that he had stopped when he did. Still, there was something that wasn't quite right about the sitch: Something that just wasn't sitting well with her instincts.

It was strange, she thought, for Ron to give up on something so easily. In the past, whenever he took to something, he did so with an intensity and whole-heartedness that bordered on obsession. She could think of at least a dozen separate times when he had gone completely gonzo over some little thing, only to eventually come crashing back down to earth, following a circuitous trip through the outer-reaches of reality. It didn't seem right that he would give-up so easily now, especially since his efforts had been meeting with so much success.

No, it wasn't right, Kim concluded… And it wasn't happening. Ron wasn't giving up on anything. He was only waiting, like a coiled cobra, anticipating the moment when her defenses would be down. He was awaiting the perfect moment to strike.

With instincts borne of knowing a person for nearly their entire life, Kim began to silently count down to the moment when she knew Ron would launch his counter-attack:

_"Three…"_

"_Two…"_

_"One…"_

"A New Jersey man was arrested last night for making an unauthorized deposit in the sperm bank…"

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Doctor James Possible glanced up from his morning paper to regard the strange sight, which had just passed by the entrance to his family's kitchen. He knew his wife had recently started trying to switch him to decaf, but caffeine withdrawal wasn't something that would explain the spectacle he had just witnessed.

"Sweetie, was that Ronald?" he asked, turning to his wife, who was leaning up against the counter, sipping on her own cup of dark, brown "wake-up juice."

"Mmm-hmmm…" she replied, as she reluctantly removed the sweet-smelling beverage from her lips. "I think he came over this morning to cheer-up Kimmie."

"I see…" James replied flatly, a puzzled look still plastered across his face. He carefully pondered this fact before continuing.

"So why was he wearing one of our soup bowls?"

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**Author's Notes:**

As you can tell, this is another one-shot that just got a hold of me and wouldn't let go. (I seem to be having a lot of these lately.)

This particular story came about as a bad idea that I had after a night of over-indulging at a Memorial Day bar-b-cue. Unfortunately, before I could do anything, the plot bunny had burrowed into my brain and raised a litter. Getting rid of it came down to a simple choice between either writing the stupid thing out, or opting for costly elective surgery.

It turns out that I have lousy insurance… so here we are. I'm just gonna chalk it all up as a lesson regarding the dangers of mixing seven-layer-dip and root-beer shooters before bedtime.

In any case, take it for what it's worth, and make of it what you will. Reviews, criticisms and snide remarks are, as always, completely welcome.

Peace, love, recycle, and all that jazz…

Nutzkie… 


End file.
